


pretty boys are only good for one thing

by dainkae



Category: Hello Charlotte (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emetophobia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hallucinating, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Vincent is alive, Vomiting, despite what charles thinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29962809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dainkae/pseuds/dainkae
Summary: he killed vincent, so why was he here?
Relationships: Charles Eyler/Vincent Fennell, Charles Eyler/Vincent Wordsworth
Kudos: 1





	pretty boys are only good for one thing

**Author's Note:**

> um basically quick warning keep in mind charles is going through a lot in this. his memories of vincents death are completely fake but he is unable to remember that he actually stopped vincent and hes alive. also he throws up and there is a very very quick mention of gore but it is only a thought its not smth that actually happens. Alsoo also he starts to have suicidal thoughts but doesnt do anything about them.

Charles awoke in a cold sweat, his throat sore as though he had been screaming but no sound came out. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t feel the bed beneath him, he couldn’t hear the gentle breathing of Vincent Fennell. He flew into a panic, desperately grabbing at the sheets next to him for some sort of body or even faint warmth, but nothing came. Images of Vincent falling from the sickeningly white rooftop came rushing to his head and he couldn’t tell if they were fake anymore, couldn’t convince himself. Nausea overtook his system and he threw himself out of the much too warm bed and dragged his heavy body to the bathroom.

Vincent Fennell died and it was all his fault. He let him. He watched him. He could have done something.

But he didn’t.

He lost track of how long he was in there. He knows he threw up at some point, but he found himself unable to again, no matter how hard his body tried. With each intense gag he felt like his insides would come next, guts falling straight out of his body. He could almost see it. For a split second he did.

He should die. It was all he deserved. After what he did, he shouldn’t be allowed to live in this world, he shouldn’t have the privilege of living in the mind he killed the god and protector of. He got up, he had plans for what to do next. He collapsed in the same spot with a loud thud.

“Charlie?” It was soft and raspy. Nothing like Anri’s voice. Couldn’t be his mother, either. As much as he misses her, he’s able to acknowledge she’s long gone now. Footsteps rush towards him, pattering on the bathroom floor, but he can’t see. He can’t, yet he knows who it is.

He’s never been more scared in his life.

“Oh, Charles… What happened?” His head is lifted up and dropped gently onto a thin and, frankly, uncomfortable pair of thighs. The body surrounding his head shuffles to grab something, and the next second he feels his lower lip being wiped with a wet towel. He didn’t even feel the mix of saliva and vomit dripping down his chin. When had he thrown up in the first place? He couldn’t remember.

“Why are you here?” He didn’t recognize the sound of his own voice, rough and croaky. His body was hoisted up higher without ease and the only thing keeping him up was the small frame of a body behind him, an equally small hand placing a glass of half empty water. The shape of lips was left in chapstick, fogging the usually clear glass close to his mouth. He drank it quickly, spilling some onto his bare neck and already sweat soaked nightwear. He was so dirty, inside and out.

“Hmm… I pay half the rent, don’t I?” The boy chuckles, taking the glass from Charles’ weak hands and placing it on the counter, grabbing another towel to clean up his neck. “I think after all this money I’ve spent I at least deserve a roof over my head, wouldn’t you agree?”

Charles’ eyes are wide as an owl’s.

“I jest, dear. Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Vincent smiles in the mirror. Charles can’t see his eyes.

“I have.” He whispers, terrified. Vincent’s smile drops. It’s silent. Charles finds he misses Vincent’s voice already.

“I’m here, Charlie. I’ve been here.” He doesn’t believe it, he can’t. He knows Vincent isn’t real but he can’t make this image of him go away. He turns slightly with the help of the ghost, now propped up against the bathtub. They lock eyes. Vincent’s eyes are devoid of rest, dark circles resting on his near colorless skin. Charles feels unworthy to stare into something so beautiful. He blinks and there’s lips on his forehead. He knows the chapstick will leave a mark.

Another on his cheek, on his jaw, on the tip of his nose.

On his lips.

His face tingles, two warm, shaking hands reach up to hold his head, thumbs rubbing circles into his cheeks. In response, he runs his own cold hands underneath Vincent’s sweater and pulls him closer by the waist. Vincent willingly goes with his pull and moves his own arms to wrap around Charles’ shoulders, shoving his face into the other’s neck. They sit there for god knows how long, enjoying the company of each other. Charles doesn’t believe in the sight before him, but he doesn’t want to let it go either. He wouldn’t be able to if he tried.

The moment is broken when Vincent pulls away, standing up with a small stumble. Charles thinks it’s the most graceful movement he’s ever seen. A hand reaches out to him, his own significantly larger one taking it gently, as to not break it. Vincent is smiling again.

He’s in bed, a body he doesn’t believe in anymore attached to his chest, cradled in his arms. He never wants to let go. Hands travel up Vincent’s stomach, feeling him jolt and shiver, but enjoying it nonetheless. He moves forward to place the bottom half of his face on Vincent’s shoulders, close enough to smell his cheap shampoo. He smells clean. He feels clean. Charles felt bad for dirtying him.

“I need to brush my teeth.” He spoke, muffled in the joint between Vincent’s shoulder and neck.

“You can do so in the morning, can’t you?” Vincent sounds exhausted, eyes already closed after a sleepless night of writing and taking care of his lover.

“My teeth will have rotted away by then.” Charles laughs, however only partially joking. He feels safe here, the memories of Vincent’s death slowly fading away. Perhaps he really was here. “Withered out of my skull.” He adds.

“We can buy you dentures, it’s okay.” There’s amusement in Vincent’s voice, mixed in with drowsiness. Charles doesn’t say anything else, only strokes Vincent’s body comfortingly til he can hear the other breathing steadily and softly, feel the heavy warmth of his body, see him in front of him.

He can’t convince himself it’s all real yet, but he’ll die before he lets go


End file.
